


Dragon Age Inquisiton: Their Wonderful Abnormality

by InquisitorYaku



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adorable Cullen, Assassin Inquisitor, Awkward Cullen, Awkward Romance, Badass Inquisitor, F/M, OC, Original Character(s), POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Inquisitor, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisitorYaku/pseuds/InquisitorYaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chains bound some and duty bounds others but fiery, flame-haired Elsa Trevelyan is bound by neither. She is bound by the constant fear of losing the freedom she sacrificed so much to gain. But when she finds herself falling for the Commander, she realises she must make a choice: To save the world from the brink of the abyss, to protect those she loves so dearly... or to keep her precious freedom.</p>
<p>An ongoing collection of short stories that will slowly build the tapestry of The Herald of Andraste's untold tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Empty Sky

“Maker’s breath what is that?”

Scruffy material, looking suspiciously like a ripped up shirt was throw over a large cage that screeched and squealed, jolting and protesting against a pair of scratched arms that hugged the cage close.

Elsa Trevelyan grinned broadly revealing a line of white teeth, a small ravine of crimson snaking down her sharp cheek form one of the deeper cuts peppering her skin.

“Close the door, Commander Uptight,” She ordered. “I’m not having Seeker burst in.”

Obeying, Cullen shot the Inquisitor a quizzical glance, taking his eyes off the cage for only a second. Her hair was wild a sticking out towards all points of a compass and her green undershirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was ripped and dusty as though she’d been struggling with something on the ground.

“Are you ready for this?” She asked with a challenging glint in her storm eyes.

Cullen gave an exasperated sigh, throwing up his arms in defeat.

“Yes?”

Elsa’s face was alight with the thrill of her new game.

“Think you can handle it, Commander?” She pressed, throwing herself down onto the cage again as it gave a shrill screech and another frenzied attempt to escape its prison. Cullen glanced at the cage on his desk warily then to the grinning face of the Herald.

“Why? Is it going to kill something?” He asked, frowning.

Elsa gave a light shrug.

“If pressed. I mean… wait will it know if I killed its mother?”

“What? Elsa what have you done… Something’s burning—

The Inquisitor whipped away the shirt before the commander could protest. His half formed words turned into a wordless cry of surprise as sleek body of scales caught the candlelight from behind scorched, dented bars. The commander fell very silent, caught between shock and sheer wonderment.

A glossy body writhed behind the bars, circling, snaking, with every move of rippling muscles the candlelight caught the glossiness of the scales. A wonderful blend of silky obsidian and fiery golds and reds, tinting the neck and whipping tail that seemed to have a life of its own. A dance of its own. A pair of wings the colour of sunsets were folded at its side, twitching, flexing, the skin somewhat translucent so before the candles, a gentle glow of golden made them look alight like fire itself. Its head, somewhat disproportionate to the rest of its willowy build attempted to push its way through the bars in clumsy thuds against the metal, a pair of hard onyx eyes flecked with a fiery blaze darting around the room.

The creature gave out a shrill screech, teeth bared as it receded into itself, clawed feet scrambling, wings frantically beating, unable to cower further.

“A Dragonling.” Cullen breathed unable to tear his eyes away from the cage. “Elsa you…”

The Inquisitor watched him intently, eyes flicking from the baby dragon to the commander and back again, watching the two stare at each other, each just as fascinated.

The Inquisitor sighed, eyes finally settling on the dragon. There was a certain inescapable enrapture Cullen had simply succumbed to. She slowly crouched beside the desk so she was head-height with the Dragon. Its darting eyes sought her out, read her, alive with the flames of fear.

“Isn’t he magnificent?” She breathed so quietly it could have been a sigh, resting her head on her arms folded over the desk, captivated like a child.

“How young?” Cullen asked, pretending he wasn’t as speechless as he felt.

“Just hatched, I think.” Elsa admitted in a whisper with undertones of hesitation. “You can tell its young, can’t you? It looks… scared. Dragons never look scared.” She gnawed her lip. “I-I can’t believe I killed—

“Its mother?” Cullen finished bluntly for her as she faltered.

Elsa’s eyes hardened as she turned to shoot him a look, tersely reminding him to keep it down. Cullen pursed his lips.

“She was killing innocents, terrorising the villages… something had to be done.” Her jaw clenched as the little dragon made a throaty grumble at the back of its throat, tail flickering. “I-I didn’t realise how beautiful she was when I was raining my bloody arrows on her though, did I? It was only when she fell did I see…”

Elsa cut herself off, biting down her last whispered words viciously.

“Well what were you thinking bringing it back here, anyway?” Cullen attempted to exclaim whilst making sure his voice didn’t rise above this feared threshold. His words came out as a hiss. “This isn’t some heroic story where a hero rides to battle atop a friendly, fully trained, entirely tame dragon, Elsa.”

There was a stale pause.

Suddenly the Inquisitor gave a stifled laugh which came out as a loud snort.

“What?” Cullen grated.

Elsa shook her head.

“I don’t think he’s big enough to ride quite yet, Cullen.”

The image was so ridiculous, despite telling himself firmly not to, the Commander found himself smiling at the young, storm-eyed girl crouched beside his desk, crimson hair long and wild and he found himself thinking her the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“I wasn’t planning on riding him,” She assured him with a lop-sided smirk, “Although thanks for the suggestion.”

“It wasn’t a—

He gave up, rubbing his forehead and exhaling. What could he do? She was about as tamed as the damned dragon.

“Have a look for any books you might have on dragons. We can always borrow off Dorian if not.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow but crossed to the bookshelf all the same and began to inspect the spines of his books, hand raking through his hair whilst the other undid the fastener of his cloak, leaving him in his cooler undershirt when he threw it aside. Elsa eyed the fur-lined cloak with a ghost of a smile playing about her lips.

“Getting hot, Commander?”

“Very funny.” He whispered back. “The Inquisitor; Defeater of the Demon Army, Slayer of Evil and utterly hilarious comedian.”

She gave a small laugh, eyes still upon the dragon.

He would have looked for books, he thought. He would have probably found one too if he hadn’t looked. It took a mere glance but he couldn’t stop once he’d started, inspecting her familiar face. The smooth panes, the quartz eyes, the curls of disobedient hair before them. He couldn’t help but watch.

He watched her stare, fascinated, thinking the thoughts he’d often guessed at and failed. He watched as with slender fingers she slowly reached towards the bars, eyes alive. He watched as they, with a soft sureness, touched the cold metal and as the dragon twitched its head, studying them in an equally childlike captivation. The Commander watched as the little creature made a shrill purring sound and with jagged hesitation sent its stubby snout to inspect her scent, tiny nostrils breathing in her smell and tiny eyes taking in her own.

Cullen watched as warily, eyes locked with the Herald’s as to detect her next move, the Dragonling ghosted the skin of Elsa’s fingers with its snout.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting, I know you two—Oh maker!”

There was a piercing screech and a snap of jaws, Elsa threw herself backwards with a yelp as the doors were slammed open, hard handle smashing into the stone wall, echoing wincingly around the stark room as the dragon hissed and screamed, thrashing and wailing. Elsa shot daggers.

“Dorian you Tevinter buffoon!” She seethed, leaping to her feet and with startling swiftness shoved past him and carefully closed the door with a sharp slam. She rested her back against the wood, biting her lip as the Dragonling continued to shriek. “The whole of Skyhold can hear that.”

Dorian looked from Elsa to the cage, gesturing wildly.

“I was expecting to be mildly surprised upon entering without knocking… but an oversized lizard? You do exceed expectations, Els. Must’ve bitten your fingers off. Here,”

Dorian reached forwards and firmly took her wrist in his hand before yanking it hard into the candlelight. Stumbling, she cursed at the mage who gave a half-smirk. “You’d better hope that tiny cut doesn’t get infected,” He said with insufferable tones of expertise, “Dragonlings eat rotten meat… well, Inquisitor fingers too apparently.”

“Shut up!” She snapped, pulling away her hand and inspecting her fingers, brow knitted. “You scared him and he lashed out. We were getting somewhere with calming it down, too.”

“We?” Chorused Cullen and Dorian.

“Well yes,” She said primly, retaking her place beside the cage and the bristling dragonling. “You’re both in on it now.”

“That so?” Dorian said laxly, pulling out the chair behind Cullen’s desk and slouching down into the worn leather. “I suppose you want to know what it is, then?”

“It’d be nice, yes.” Elsa replied, eyeing the mage picking at his nail.

“I suppose I can tell you a little bit, seeming as you’ve both been good. It’s a Ferelden Frostback, silly name really, seeming as it’s a fire dragon but what can you expect from around here, hm? The poor sod to discover the creature was probably drunken to a stupor.”

“Careful,” Cullen uttered lowly from his bookshelf, “You’re in a room with the Herald of Andraste and The Inquisition’s Commander. Both Fereldens.”

“A Ferelden Frostback.” Elsa echoed, tilting her head. “Well then, it’s fitting we name him Calenhad.”

“No. No way.” Cullen stepped forwards.

Dorian watched the pair meet eyes in silent battle, lip curling.

“Come on, it’s perfect. The first king of Ferelden; Calenhad.” She paused, “Suits him.”

“I don’t care about the name. Don’t name it at all!” 

“It’s a lot catchier than Ferelden Frostback… or just Dragon.”

“Elsa…”

The Commander took his hands to his face and slowly rubbed his temples, pacing a little, shaking his head slowly. He said her name as though it were a curse of annoyance, a common expression for frustration that a stressed parent might say to a child and it never failed to make her laugh.

“Cullen…” She echoed, mimicking his deep voice, squaring her shoulders.

“Out of interest,” Dorian broke in, “not to break the highly amusing tiff, but what do you plan to do with it, my dear… the dragon that is, not Cullen.”

There was an expectant pause in which Elsa carefully observed the small creature and Cullen frowned to himself lightly at Dorian’s remark. Calenhad, no bigger than a large cat scratched the side of his small, horned head on the bars. She breathed in deeply, mind whirring.

“Haven’t the foggiest?”

“Nope.” She concluded, sitting back on her heels heavily, completely at a loss.

“Wonderful.” Cullen breathed. “Sounds completely brutal but he might have some vital supplies for healing or—

“Either you’re suggesting we check his little backpack for useful supplies or we kill him Commander.” Elsa interrupted, standing. “If it’s the second option I recommend you keep your brutal suggestions to yourself before you go flying off the Skyhold battlements.”

Elsa stopped suddenly as something dawned.

“Who said romance was dead…” Dorian breathed as he rose from his chair.

“Wait, Dorian…”

Elsa whirled around, eyes aflame.

“Do you happen to know at what age Dragons can fly?”

***

It was nothing more than a shadow. A graceful shard of blackness against an inky sky, studded with stars, slicing through the night air in joyous cries. Through the emptiness of the sky it rang, rattling the stars in long, mournful notes.

“From down here,” Elsa whispered into the soft fabric of Cullen’s chest, rising and falling in gentle rhythm. “It sounds much more like a song.”

He made a low noise of agreement and it rumbled in his chest against her.

“The mountains echo it back… listen.”

The pair waited in the quiet of the night, their eyes watching the shard of shadow, so far, far above, circling and gliding and swooping, diving among the stars. When its cry rang again they both tensed, listening so hard the night itself had a noise and distantly, so quiet they had to strain to hear, the mountains whispered back the cry of dragons. Once, twice, three times. Elsa’s face broke into a smile.

The two had dragged blankets and cushions out onto her balcony and thrown themselves among the furs, huddled together for warmth as frost settled around their sweet circle of golden candlelight. His arms, stronger and safer than any mountain fortification could make her feel held her close to him. Her hair sprawled around them and he stroked it absentmindedly, gently teasing at the knots she never bothered to brush out.

After snatching a bucket of meat cuttings to keep Calenhad quiet from the kitchens and smuggling the cage, with great difficulty, up to her chambers they’d set down the Dragonling on the balcony and shut the doors firmly behind them. Together, on the count of three they released the lock and the cage door creaked open as they leaped backwards expectantly. But tentatively, the dragonling peered out, smelling the air, testing the freedom hesitantly.

There was a split-second, a heartbeat of a glance then he threw himself into the sky in a flame of wings against a dying sun. Elsa couldn’t help but laugh and rush to the balcony, leaning out into the wind that carried the dragon and tugged her hair. Then the evening drew fast, thrusting the world into its kingdom of silver and shadows. But the Dragonling stayed. Still singing and still dancing its song and dance in the sky.

“He must feel… so free.” She muttered as Calenhad dipped into a low dive. His flight seeming so effortless, it was as though the darkness and the cold carried him alone on separate wings.

“Do you ever wish you could do the same?” The commander asked, tracing an invisible pattern on her upper arm as she nuzzled deeper into the warmth of the crook of his neck. His molten gold eyes danced from star to star as he spoke, “Just fly away like that and leave behind everything? Every responsibility and every pressure.” 

“Constantly,” she admitted in a sigh. “As a girl, I would have given anything. The world. I never stopped trying to escape.”

“Will you find that escape… one day?”

There was a thoughtful pause in which he felt her seek better words.

“Will you find it with me?”

His chest became heavy for she sounded somewhat pleading. Somewhat scared. He pulled her closer still, wanting to take in every warmth and sooth every worry he knew he simply could never do with words alone. Her arms wound around him tightly as he uttered to her.

“Maker try and stop me.”

“The only problem is,” She murmured after a short while, her whispers merging with the cry of the distant dragon as it grew ever further from their balcony. “Here, with you... I think I’ve already found it.”

“Mission accomplished, then. I’ll ready a report, shall I?”

She laughed with him, a soft sound that made him never want to stop smiling. The sound of home.

He caught her face in one hand and drank in a quartz of her smiling eyes as he held it there, stroking a thumb down her chiselled jawline. He pressed his lips to hers, feeling their softness and the warmth that seeped through him at the touch of her skin, the feel of her hair through his fingers and the caress of her hand around his neck.

The feel of home.

When they next looked, the Dragonling was gone and they were left with each other, the stars, and an empty sky.


	2. Painted Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Cullen and Elsa Trevelyan watch the sun rise over Haven as together, they share their first proper conversation. Varric attempts to convince Elsa it's all going to be alright and unwanted word arrives from the Trevelyan house. Elsa begins to find herself facing unrealistic expectations she simply knows she can never live up to.

 

The wind bit. Sharp, laced with the strange smells of distant destruction and death that it whipped up like dust from over the mountains. Barely seeing anything, Elsa Trevelyan gazed at the jagged horizon, silhouetted against the sunrise; a strip of bright scarlet. Mountains. The stony kings of the land, silent rulers, reigning the landscape with their great stone spears piercing the sky’s belly.

They all knew, she thought as that wind tugged at her hair and ghosted her skin. They had seen it all; the bloodshed, the war, the destruction. Years upon years of it, layering and layering, hardening beneath our feet until we walk on it today, boots heavy with exhaustion. They knew but they said nothing. Not even to the wind that howls mournfully or whispers gently, or to the soundless snow that settles, softening the sharpness of the toothed rock. No. The secrets stay as silent as their hearts of stone. If they could, Elsa thought, would they simply scream it all out? Scream away years and years of inhumanities?

Just beyond those mountains was where it had all happened. The Rift, the fighting, the pain and the realisation. Just beyond those mountains she had been spat out from the unknown and the impossible and she had lived. Lived. Just beyond those mountains she had befallen more fates than a single lifetime could ever imagine and it chilled her to the bone with fear. Just beyond those mountains she had lost everything and gained too much. She was a silent mess and her mind was in tatters.

She almost started as a distant wolf howled from the thin woods surrounding Haven. She blinked, ripping away her eyes and biting down on shivers that had settled on her without her realising. On a quick glance over her shoulder, almost forgetting where she was, the sight of the wooden cabins surrounding the great stone building made her feel less comforted than she’d hoped. Being surrounded by beings, living, feeling and breathing, didn't always make her feel less lonely. Often, things that spoke not with words were more comforting and made much better friends.

“Watching the sunrise?”

Came a deep voice, so unexpected from the icy quiet of the frozen lake before her she suppressed a gasp of surprise. There was a gentle crunching beneath leather boots as a tall man came and stood beside her, hand lazing on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Elsa forced her face back into its unreadable mask and forced a corner of her lip into a curl.

“I’m not usually one to wake at this time,” She replied, her breath misting before her face in a silver cloud. “I’m more of a midday-riser myself but… It seemed fitting to watch this morning.”

The man looked down at her, face serious. Commander Cullen. He wasn't an excessively handsome man, Elsa thought as she took a second to study his face yet there was something unmistakably appealing about his thick curls and molten gold eyes that Elsa found tricky to ignore. He was fairly tall, in fact, around a head above her in height and he had a fairly kind face, rather soft features and bright eyes that unwittingly revealed so much. When he spoke, she found it difficult not to watch the silvery scar across his upper-lip.

“Strangely… brighter this morning.” He admitted in a sigh, following her gaze back to the sky now tinged with tangerine and gold. “After all that happened at the Conclave and—

He cut himself off, shaking his head. A cold wind tousled his hair as he gave a breathy laugh.

“You probably don’t want to hear about that anymore.”

She shook her head, shrugging, trying to show him it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“We’re all trying to escape what happened, Commander,” She said turning to him features stony, “one way or another.”

“There is no escaping some things, no matter how hard we try.”

Elsa’s stormy eyes flicked from the sunrise to his face and she tilted her head.

“No? I think there’s always an escape, Commander. How long it fends off the things you’re escaping however, that’s a different story but there’s always something we can find that, one day, will free us from whatever it is forever.”

Hating that her voice revealed tones of wistfulness that sighed with the wind somewhat, she quickly made a gesture as though waving her silly suggestion away, shaking her head. He studied her face for a moment as if trying to read something, work something out or find an answer to a question he daren’t form in words out loud.

“I… I hope you’re right” He stumbled, still contemplating her words so his brow furrowed lightly. “You of all people in this situation… you- I mean… I hope that you find your freedom… after everything.”

She smiled then, forced or false it may be but she did. She smiled at it was the saddest smile the Commander had ever seen and all he felt could do was look away. New sunlight splashed upon their skin now, not at all warm but unspeakably beautiful. The frozen lake turned into a pool of golden and the snow glistened and sparkled enchantingly. Elsa watched with sad eyes, taking it in before she breathed out a long breath.

“I don’t think I properly introduced myself, Commander.” She said suddenly. “I’m not The Herald of Andraste and this thing…” she brandished her hand, strange mark only coming into view for a split second “doesn’t make me any more than what I was before which was an unruly and unwilling daughter of a Teryn who liked fancy parties.”

She gnawed her lip, directly facing him.

“Elsa Trevelyan,”

“Cullen Rutherford,”

Their bare names hung in the air for a moment. Without title, without meaning.

“Maker,” Elsa muttered, mouth pulled into a small smirk, “we sound so normal.”

The Commander gave a small laugh.

“Once upon a time, perhaps.”

The sun was born anew now, its rays gracing the tips of the pines and the roofs of the houses, thawing the night’s frost. Elsa exhaled, averting her eyes from the magnificent display.

“I only got up to watch the sun because I thought it would help. I can't say I'm not disappointed...”

Distant birdsong filled the silence before she spoke again.

“I thought that when this sun rose everything that happened... might go and that everything would get easier because it’s in the past. I thought this meant it was all gone, over…”

After one final glance she began to walk away, the wind pulling her hair across her face, her hands folded tightly across her chest against its chill. She turned and made her way towards the cabins but Cullen caught her mutter some final words, unsure whether they were meant for him or for no body at all.

“I was wrong.”

 

***

 

“I’m not even gonna ask or try to understand any of this,” Varric sighed, leaning on the frame of her open door. Elsa looked up from her book with an eyebrow raised.

“Good.” She said curtly, snapping shut the book and throwing it down on the unmade bed. She was going to make no secret of the fact that today, she wanted to be alone. A lone candle burnt but the grey light of day mainly lit the small cabin, that, and a small struggling fire that offered no warmth at all. Elsa frowned at its pathetic smouldering and shivered dramatically, skin prickling all over.

“Not used to the weather? Me neither.” The dwarf started up again, sauntering into her room ignoring her hints and picking up the book she had thrown down, inspecting the text on the back. Elsa lunged forwards and with startling swiftness snatched the book back. He put up his ringed hands in mock surrender, backing away with a smirk.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Just didn’t take you for the romantic type. You actually read stuff like that?”

Elsa’s jaw clenched as she clutched the soppy romance novel to her chest.

“Perhaps,” she muttered after a second. “Anything will do to take my mind of… things. Catch me reading this sort of thing when I was younger and I would have died with embarrassment.”

There was an almost fondness in her expression when she next looked down at the book depicting a pair of silhouettes before a sunset and traced the first curly letter with her fingers. Varric made a small noise caught between a laugh sigh as he raked a hand through his hair. He had broad features, typical of a dwarf and a smooth city accent and smooth city words. He wore fine silks or at least, they had been fine once. Now they were somewhat worn, rugged, faded by many suns.

“I’m not gonna sugar-coat this for you, Elsa, you’ve been thrown in at the deep end here and you think getting your head around this shit is hard... Look, I get it, you want to be alone, it’s all too much, you can’t make sense of it, “why me”, “why me”. But I’m going to give advice I’ve given before… To every great story there’s always an end, there has to be.”

Elsa made a short bark of laughter as overwhelming wave of suffocation swept over her so her chest had to heave and her heart hammer for control.

“An end? And what if that end is horrific? Worse than the beginning? What if my end is the one the reader cries at? The one the reader throws down the book in anger at because she couldn’t do it.”

Her volume spiralled. Her eyes were big. Her expression one of weak despair… and it sept out then, into those silvery eyes as she fought back the tears angrily. Her mask had slipped, just a little, only enough for one to catch a fleeting emotion but Varric saw.

“The author of my story has always been cruel…” She finished, biting down hard.

Varric cocked his head ever so slightly as he watched her there, undefended, unmasked and he did not flinch and he did not look worried. He did not look scared or disgusted or disappointed.

“What if you’re the author, Elsa?”

Was all Varric said. Simply, sincerely.

Elsa’s eyes dropped as she fell onto the bed, turning away, book slipping from her fingers. They hardened back to ice as she glowered away from him, out of the window and onto the icy lake that looked dull and grey without the sun. There was the harsh clamour of swords from the training camp and Cullen’s authoritarian corrections rang across the snow and the lake austerely.

When she heard the gentle creak of his boots as he left with a sigh, she ignored him, strangely bitter. She glared out the small window, watching the sparse snowflakes spiral gracefully from the sky. It was only when, in the very distance among the stark white of the snow she spotted it. She spotted it and her feet acted of their own accord, forcing her to stand slowly as if wary or under knife-point. Her eyes were glued to the lone horseman, familiar cape flickering gentle among the white like a ghost. Her heart lurched and her stomach twisted.

Before she knew what she was doing, the sting of cold punished her skin as she sprinted towards the great stone fortress, door swinging after her, hair ablaze around her, Cullen’s questioning calls of her name fading behind her. Elsa iced over with a cold anger. If this is what she thought it was, if this is what she dared herself to think, believe, then there would be hell to pay. Suddenly, there was no room for mercy in this iced heart.

 

***

 

Her blade flashed against the snow in a blaze of swift deadliness and was at the messenger’s neck in a heartbeat. She clenched the man’s collar in a fist and dragged him around the back of the great stone fortress. He wore the colours of house Trevelyan and the wild stallion Sigel was stitched across his chest and into his cloak.

“What do you want?” She seethed when she pushed him hard against a shadowed wall, well out of sight and earshot. She was almost shouting, face pressed close to the young man whimpering beneath her blade. Her dagger dug lightly into his neck just enough to remind him she was deadly serious. He looked so drowned in fear Elsa thought he might not answer and gave an irritable snarl. His breathing became ragged as his rabbit eyes darted around in some kind of sounless cry for help.

“Tell me!” She barked, so sharply he winced, sobbing. The trees around them whispered to one another as silence fell.

“A-a-a message, My Lady.” He got out eventually between whispering that sounded like a prayer beneath panicked breath. “All… all I have is a message from your Lord Father.”

“So strange he wants to speak to me now.” She laughed, a laugh that was not her own and she hated that her heart fluttered like a butterfly waking from the cold. “I suppose he still believes his words mean something to me. That they are of worth or value. Tell me his message and I’ll consider letting you give it back to him alive.” She half expected the man to have the voice of her father. That cold, sardonic cruelty he punished her with over and over and…

“Speak or so help me…” Elsa uttered venomously, making it sound like she wasn’t pleading. She didn’t take her eyes off the messenger who mouthed wordless prayer, eyes screwed shut, trembling.

Elsa steadied her breathing, fixing her gaze on her father’s lackey. How dare he contact her now? Now, after everything. He knew exactly what he was doing; he was digging up wounds he’d inflicted upon her himself. She did not belong to him. No. No she was an idiot. She was stupid for ever thinking he’d accept that or let her go. Free her. He always had to have a hold on her and this was how; he’d make her feel unbearable guilt until the end of her days.

His messenger whined.

He looked so young.

“The message.” She demanded viciously, remembering herself. She slammed him against the wall so he made a choked sob then he fumbled around in his bag desperately.

A trembling hand held out a formal letter, sealed with her family seal. It took every scrap of self-control not to break down then and there at the mere sight of it. Not to scream or cry or this spill blood so very close to splattering the walls, her skin. Instead she snatched it from him and slowly removed her dagger. The messenger almost collapsed in relief, a ramble of thanks gushing clumsily as he stumbled for balance.

Elsa stared down at the little letter in her hands, containing the written words of her father. Words written for her. His daughter. A lone snowflake spiralled down from the churning sky and melted upon the paper, decorated with ornate ink patterning she’d loved as a girl.

Just as the messenger bowed hurriedly and scrambled away from her he was only stopped again by the gentle tease of her cold dagger on the back of his neck. Elsa felt him bristle all over as the fear resettled tauntingly. Her pace was slow and teasing when she sauntered a little closer, boots silent in the snow. She became so close she could whisper to him from beneath his messy shock of mousey hair. Her letter crunched in her hand as her fist clenched white.

“I am so forgetful. There is one more thing I need before I let you scramble back to my father’s pretty chambers.” Elsa muttered darkly, coat tail flickering like a cat’s.

“I couldn’t let you go without my reply, could I? It was after all so thoughtful of him to think of me and he must have many questions. Do return my father’s kindness with a little message from me, will you? And don’t worry… he’ll know exactly what I mean.”

 

***

 

The room was cold. Her shallow breathing misted the mirror.

“I know the relations between you and your family are strained, Elsa. If there are things we can smooth over between you and your family, you need only ask.” Josephine attempted kindly, standing behind her as Elsa numbly washed her hands in the basin, watching unseeingly as the water turned from crystal to a strange, metallic copper. She quickly mixed it in with the soap until it was unnoticeable. She looked at her fingers, head tilted. They were so smooth, so slender… and her mark. It burnt, pulsing like a second heartbeat…

“We could organise meetings with the Trevelyans using representatives… or I could arrange some ties with other allies.”

Elsa turned around slowly, closing her hand into a fist as she gave a strained smile.

“Josephine, it’s just a letter. The messenger delivered it without further word and rode away. God knows what my father wants…” She lied smoothly although her words seemed to fall like dead sounds on her lips. She hated her own treachery.

“You’re brave for accepting word,” Josephine said quietly.

Elsa’s stomach lurched. She shook her head wildly, stepping forwards hoping the closed distance would contribute to her earnestness.

“I’m not. I’m not brave and I’ve been meaning to tell you Josephine that I’m not this hero. I’m… I’m not a good person like you are. I mean- Look at me.”

Josephine’s eyes lifted to the Inquisitor’s and Elsa felt her take her in. Elsa’s skin was paler today and she looked drained. So much had happened. Too much. There were too many… ghosts and Josie could see it in the young woman’s eyes as they forced their sad smile. I occurred to her then that she, the Commander and the Spymaster had spoken about her so often, tones hushed in the candlelight because in their heads Elsa simply didn’t make sense. She was a confusing, a blur, not quite pinned to definition. Out in words, she seemed better depicted.

“Why do you bother with me? I’m sorry I’m not quite what you were all hoping for but it’s your fault for misreading me as this “Herald” anyway. Look, I’m only telling you because I don’t want to be a lie anymore.”

Elsa suddenly found herself wondering what Cullen would have looked like if he’d seen her with her dagger to that man’s neck. What horror would have flashed through his eyes and what he would have said afterwards…

Josephine straightened her back and lifted her chin.

“You’re wrong.” She said, trying to make Elsa see. “We all saw what happened with the refugees after the Conclave. We saw how you threw yourself into the destruction of the Rift just to close it. We aren’t giving up on you because you don’t believe in yourself. Not so early.” She stepped forwards, her movements always so graceful as though practised until natural. She took Elsa’s arm in her hand and gave it a small squeeze as she smiled. “There’s so much of you to understand, Lady Trevelyan, I can feel it.”

Elsa blinked. She opened and closed her mouth. She didn’t understand. She didn’t see. Elsa was just a weapon and her past meant she had blood on her hands. Josie’s gaze was inescapable. Discouraged by the Ambassadors sincerity, there was a brief moment of unsureness and her lies felt like weights on her shoulders. But she had tried to tell her…

Suddenly she rolled her eyes and made a small noise of exasperation.

“Now I feel like I have to prove I’m a better person to you alone and the task is already daunting. Imagine trying to sway an entire nation. A nation full of Cassandras.”

Josephine smiled, relieved.

“Thankfully, you have me for that.”

When Elsa next looked out over the huddling cabins and rowdy courtyards she saw not refugees, busying themselves and keeping warm and fed but she saw people who relied on her. She saw not Cullen’s trainees, smacking their wooden swords but she saw men, boys prepared to die for her. She saw not Leliana’s spies slinking around but she saw men and women whose secrets risked everything for her. She saw people who thought her the hero she had been so wrongly made out to be. Made out to be in desperation and in hardship. She had been painted as a hero and today she had proved to herself she was otherwise. She had allowed the anger to take hold of her. Heroes don’t do that.

One thought possessed her restless mind that night as she lay awake in the cold, images of the day flashing before her in the darkness; how on earth was she going to become this painted hero?


	3. For the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven falls in flames, the world feels like it's been thrown into turmoil and Elsa realises the beacon of hope she represents in such dark times.

 Terrible flames licked the sky. Their tongues of dreadful gold whipping up the darkness, sending buildings down in clouds of floating embers and ash, roaring and groaning. The world was turmoil. A sanity-gnawing havoc of wailing, howling, people running, stumbling and bleeding. Man and horse screamed alike. Man and horse _died_ alike. The sky was haunted by a creature that screamed, shaking the world. _A dragon_.

  _So this is what death sounds like_ , the Commander thought as the sickeningly warm wind dried the sweat on his face. His sword dripping, his hair clinging to his forehead, his chest heaving. The order of retreat had been sent in panicked cries, men ran to the wooden doors for the safety of the fortress but the Commander couldn’t move. He couldn’t.

 Haven was falling prey to an army and a dragon and he was stuck to the spot. Watching. Watching for _her_.

 He had been told not to trust her. He had been warned and advised, listened in on stories, rumours and whispers and there was a line drawn between them. It was for the best. It was for their safety.

 Yet move now, leave her out there, he simply could not.

 

“ _Elsa_!”

His voice was lapped up by the chaos hungrily, the splintering of wood in fire and the distant rumble of destruction turned his cry into the tiniest of whispers. There was a strange emptiness in the upper courtyard he looked over, an unusual pause in the havoc and the only movement seemed to be the whirling of the sky and the tormenting dance of the fires. _Only bodies and blood_.

 There was a screech and a shadow from the sky swooped low, a split-second of a piercing note that cut through him before there came a bone-shattering thud and the Commander was thrown off balance, ears ringing, heart hammering. _The dragon had struck_. The stone wall skirting the upper courtyard lay scattered across the cobbles in burning rubble and scorched stone. Everything reeled and when he next looked, struggling to stand on ground that churned beneath his boots, it hissed gently in its last moment of stillness.

 An in-breath, ragged and laboured and an outbreath, long and shaky… and then it happened. Elsa Trevelyan leaped over the scorched rubble, hair flailing and daggers drawn red. Her long legs quickly found purchase among the blacked rubble and she leapt nimbly down into the courtyard, landing in a cat-like stance just metres away from where the flaming boulder had struck. She looked eerily beautiful, all in blacks and silvers, her deep crimson hair ablaze and there she waited. Her leather coat tails flickered behind her like a fire of her very own.

She was watching something. _Waiting_.

Although she was far below him, Cullen could see the steady dripping of dark blood from her arm splash into a steadily growing pool beside her feet. The Commander could have called, ran down to get her but instead he waited with her, his gaze following her own. Her dagger glinted in the firelight as she readied them. _What was she doing?_

 A scream. A scream so twisted it was like no noise the Commander had ever heard before and dark shivers ran through his bones. In a scramble of monstrous blood-lust  they came, clawing through the rubble of the ruined wall like wounded animals, screeching, howling. What she had been waiting for. What once were men were now creatures, flesh mutated grotesquely around the crystallising poison rooted in their skin. Only Red Lyrium could do this to a man. Only Red Lyrium could turn a man into his own walking nightmares. Elsa stood her ground.

 

“ _Elsa_!”

She did not flinch. She only watched as the Templars followed their tormented creatures, swords drawn.

 “ _Elsa, run_.”

 She did not waver. Still crouched she watched them near, terrible howls of agony their only voice.

 “You cannot defeat them! It’s _over_!”

She looked then. Her eyes glinted in the firelight with something foreign as they caught his own. Something so dark and unreadable. She was listening, he could call her now, get her to stop before they reached her. _He could try_ … But Cullen’s words did not come so easily, because as he looked into those eyes, he knew he wasn’t talking to the same person anymore.

 She was upon them in a heartbeat. Exploding into a whirlwind of blood, her dance was one of the deadliest grace. She danced to the song of death and blood and she knew the steps all too well. Metal on metal rang through her blood as her daggers sunk into flesh and skin, ripping and slicing until they fell, one by one. Dipping, diving, leaping, scarlet splattered her skin and her hair but it did not faze her, nothing did. She was barely human anymore. All those feelings were gone and new things thrummed though her in this strange… symphony. And it was. It was a song.

 A sword was thrust towards her, guided with strength and purpose but she dodged lithely, whirling around to sink her dagger deep into the back of a neck. His body shuddered beneath her and human blood soaked her hand. Just as she tore the dagger from his neck her second was plunged into a stomach and a scream rang jaggedly cut-off through the courtyard. Death surrounded her.

 Suddenly it was her own cries that ripped through the chaos as she was thrown backwards by the splintering force of a shield. Every bone in her body seemed to jar and a white heat ripped through her. She forced herself into a roll, ignoring her screaming bones, missing an axe as she went and resumed her crouched pose, a snake of blood dripping from her lip as she silently challenging her attacker with dead eyes. Caught a movement. Quicker than a whip a throwing dagger hit home in a knee and the axe-wielder fell, howling as another was sent into the neck of an unseen advancer.

 “Try,” she hissed, voice hoarse and cracked, not her own. “Try and kill me.”

 The shielded defender was so heavily armed, a wicked grin sept across her face at the thought of how painfully slow he was going to be. Rising, she decided to make this one a game. Adroitly, she moved to his left, watching him follow before she leapt around the other way, again smirking as he turned clumsily to face her.

 “I seem to dodge everything you monsters throw at me, don’t I?” She called, twirling her daggers in her hand, blood ringing. “It must pain you when you can destroy so much, crush beneath your boots so easily and shed seas of blood with a single command… yet cannot catch a girl. Alone.”

 With a roar of irritancy from behind his helmet he lunged at her but all too deftly she pranced away, skirting the corpses. Her laugh was one bordering lunacy when it escaped a mouth no longer belonging to her.

 “Come on!” She evoked, throwing up her arms, “Why don’t you do it for your master… your puppeteer? He started all this, he put me on this path, he crushed the little I held dear… I’m sure he’d be grateful if you simply finished it off. The reward would be unthinkable, no?”

 He swung. She dived backwards. A snort of laughter.

 “Of course not. You’re so… _disposable_.”

Then she was upon him. Kicking away his sword and bracing his shield, she dipped below a fist and darted a clumsy kick in her direction before her dagger found home deep in his neck. He released a shuddering breath as his life was released. Still standing as he died, she whispered cold words.

 “See? Disposable.”

He moaned and she savoured the feel of his body becoming a weight, simply falling away. Her blood hummed and her skin prickled. The dragon shattered the sky with it's cry, swooping slow.

 

 From behind her there was a sickening crunch, the sound of a sword through muscle and her back became drenched in a sticky warmth, causing her to lurch forwards. She whirled around as she scrambled away, wet hair clinging to her neck and cheeks. A Templar stood over her, sword upholstered, mouth stretched open in a wordless cry for a length of a sword pierced his throat from behind. He fell in a thud, scream unfinished.

 “Cullen.”

At least that word sounded her own.

The Commander stood, eyes wide as he stared at the Templar then to his crimson sword. The rumbling had begun again behind them, closer now. He swallowed hard as his eyes met hers, features darkening but Elsa had no time to read why. He seized her wrist and pulled on it hard, dragging her up the stairs behind him to the wooden doors to the Chantry and practically throwing her through so she staggered for balance. Stragglers stumbled after them before the doors were shut with a boom and the dragon's screams faded.

 She hissed some curses as the survivors, Elsa herself had dragged from the turmoil, gasped. The Chanry hall was full of hushed tones and candles, whispers and crying.

 

 

“What were you _doing_?” He hissed, pulling her to one side. Elsa’s jaw clenched.

 “I was _doing_ just fine!” She retorted bitterly, whipping away the blood from her face with the back of her hand, grimacing to find that it only smeared the metallic stickiness further. She swallowed as she splayed her fingers before her face. A small wave of sickness washed over her at the sight of her own fingers, soaked in blood, fingernails caked. Her heart hammered but she forced her eyes to harden.

 “You could have died!” The Commander seethed, staring dead into her, hands gripping her upper arm as though she might run away at any moment.

 “I-I would have…” She attempted, sill staring at her hands, but words dwindled just out of reach.

 “Maker, what were you thinking? You risked too much trying to defeat too little... all for what? The satisfaction of _killing_?”

 She looked up and caught his eye, next words so unexpected the commander frowned.

 “Well then, you must think I’m some kind of monster. I suppose you’d better save yourself now before she guts you or something.” She looked away sharply, jaw clenching, willing for her tears not to spill. “Run away from me while you still can.” She ended in a mutter her sardonic bitterness wavering.

 A headache pulsed in her temples like something was hammering at the inside of her skull with angry fists. _Maker_...

He bit down then exhaled audibly.

 “No. No I don’t think you’re a monster.”

There was a long pause in which the Commander inspected the girl beneath his grip. Her face, her eyes, her shaking. In a painful moment his thoughts were yanked back to the days where he had looked like this… tormented and scared… _It wasn't her that was the monster_.

 “Yes you do… and so do I. Not that I could care, they deserved all they got and more. I suppose it’s more of a warning… Look; think what you like Commander Cullen, you and I both have other... _Andraste's ass_!”

 Her words were vicious babbles but none could stop the single tear that wound a white track through the drying blood that cut her off. Cullen watched her growl the curse and savagely wipe it away with the back of her hand. Her fists were clenched white to stop her incessant shaking. Her body knew what she had done but her mind refused to comprehend. She did not allow her mind to comprehend. Not quite yet, anyway. When she was alone, she reminded herself _, when she was alone again_.

 Glancing at the Commander she found herself watching as his eyes skimmed down her, taking in the blood and the rips and the death. She watched as his eyes darkened and he turned his face away, as though he couldn't bear to look at her. _And who could?_ _These were the hands of a monster, remember?_

 

He straightened, resuming some semblance of professionalism and when he next spoke it was as though they hadn't been speaking of anything other than stupid tactics.

 “Our position is not good, that dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” He said  letting go of her arm quickly. All the hateful authority of a Commander. She was about to open her mouth to snap some sharp words when a there came a voice, gentle and untainted by fear that seemed to weave its own path of silence through the noise of the hall. As though, when the words were spoken all was hushed a little to let them pass.

“He tried to stop a Templar... the blade went deep. He's going to die.”

"What a charming boy." 

 Elsa shifted her gaze to see the strange blonde boy with the hat, Chancellor  Rodrick's arm around his shoulder as they staggered from the doors. The boy's ghost-blue eyes skimmed her own. With a reeling head she tentatively licked her chapped lips so she could talk, digging her cracked fingernails into the cold stone to find some grounding, some kind of pain to make things clearer. _If she could just hold on…_

 “Chancellor Roderick...” she got out finally, eyes wandering to Rodrick whose gaze tracked her every move and whose face was sunken and pale. His Chantry robes were crimson red and he sunk into a wooden chair, face contorted with pain. She thought about the time she had wished death upon him in curses of hatred… No. Pushing away from the wall she neared them with weak steps. She was scared they might give way beneath her, send her crashing to the stone floor but they held.

 There was a scream from the sky outside. 

 "I've seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade," The boy said almost mournfully, words like strange poetry, "but it looked like that."

 "I don't care what it looks like." Cullen barked irritably, making Elsa shoot him a terse look, "It's cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!"

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village!" The boy said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He caught Elsa's eye. "He only wants the Herald."

 " _Great_." She seethed beneath her breath, teeth gritted to the point of pain. "Look, if you know why he wants me, say it now. I'm sick of games and riddles and things not making sense. It's obvious, right? He wants _this_."

 She brandished her marked hand that stung her skin. What else could he want? What else would make him crush a village? It had to be the mark. For all Elsa was concerned, he could take the damned thing and she'd be glad to see the back of it.

 "I-I don't know." The boy admitted slowly as though testing his own words, weighing their sense, "He's too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters but he'll crush them, kill them anyway. I don't like him."

 "You don't like...?" Cullen cut himself off sharply before his volume rose anymore. Jaw clenching, he turned to Elsa. "There are no tactics to make this survivable. We're dying, but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."

 Elsa shook her head, looking away from the Commander who was sternly trying to convince her with those copper eyes. _There must be something else._

 “Yes, _that_.” The boy said to himself in a sad, sing-song tone as Elsa tensed, mind numbly whirring, searching for answers, stomach still lurching. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies." 

 Heavy eyes fell on the man slumped in the seat, face sunken. Elsa hung to his every word, expression desperate.

 "There is a path," he began, wheezing cracked breaths, "You wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer Pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me, Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you."

 He was trying to reach her, get nearer, quivering with the pain as he stood from his chair. Elsa shook her head, brow denting. All she wanted was to run away, to sprint as far away from it all as she could. The Chancellor's weakening gaze held her steady.

“Now, with so many at the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers... I don't know Herald, if this simple memory can save us, this could be more than a mere accident. You could be more."

 Elsa stepped away, shaking her head wildly. She couldn't be. She could close those things and that was it. She would close them and that would be it, right? No one even had to know...

 "You could be hope..."

 “Hope…” Elsa muttered emptily. No. Something had to be done, she glanced at the wooden doors. Cullen tensed, mouth a pale line.

 "Herald? What of your escape?" He asked as though guessing her thoughts.

Elsa's features hardened. Cullen's face dropped as realisation settled. They both knew, she had to go back out there. An Army and a Dragon was attacking Haven for _her_. She had to face them. If the avalanche slowed them but wasn't enough... _she'd_ have to finish it once and for all. 

 Cullen spoke as though her thoughts had been read aloud.

 "Perhaps you will surprise it.... find a way...."

 “I know what I have to do.” She finished, cutting off the Commander before he could talk again, thankful her voice sounded so much stronger than she felt. For inside, she was beyond terrified and on the dreaded brink of breaking down. Cullen's gaze lingered a while.

 Cullen gave a single, understanding nod and Elsa was glad she didn't have to convince him, talk to him anymore or even make eye-contact. She heard him send out the first orders and she sighed shakily to herself, pressing her hands against her lips in a subconsciously prayer-like position. She’d never prayed for anything before in her life. _How odd._

And so the plans were made and Elsa stood silently as things were organised, people comforted. She stood silently as people muttered thanks to her, bowed their heads and clasped their hands. The wooden doors beckoned her back into the turmoil as they shuddered from the storm outside. She knew what she must do. A thin crack of cold light was cast across the floor like a blade, cutting her in half as she stood before the entrance, forcing her hands not to shake.

 “Good luck, Herald.”

 “Thank the Maker…”

 “Praise the Herald.”

 

 From over her shoulder the hall emptied, the voices diminished until all that remained where the ones in her head and the whisper of the distant devastation. Maker… that was what she was running into again.

_She could do this. She had to. Just a few steps—_

 “Herald.”

It was Cullen, there was a sudden warmth on her wrist as a hand took it gently. She turned to see him, eyes averted.

 “If this is to work,” He started, shaking his head, “let that thing hear you.”

 Her gaze settled on his hand gripping her wrist. She was going to pull away, just yank herself from his grip and let that tell him how she felt but from the steady faith in his golden eyes she caught in a fleeting glance, she thought that maybe… just maybe he didn’t quite think of her the way she thought of herself…

 She slid her fingers into his so they gripped hands instead. His fingers tightened around her own when she gave a reassuring squeeze.

 “Don't worry, those things won't know what's hit them.”

Her smirk was strained but she was glad the Commander relaxed, his eyes softening. They stayed there for a mere moment, not quite wanting to let go that second, or the next, or the next. It was as though letting go _meant_ something… The storm growled and Elsa turned back to the door dutifully.

 Pulling away her fingers quickly and listening to the footsteps as the Commander left she placed her hands on the wooden door until his footsteps faded. He was safe now at least. From what? Outside? The Templars? Her? Her forehead rested against the wood as her headache raged. Just one push, she urged herself, just one push and she could do this.

 

 

“Hey Rubies, you weren’t expecting to go out there alone, now, were you?”

 Elsa’s lip curled and she pressed down unanticipated tears that she simply couldn’t allow to spill and shame her again.

 “Varric,” She said turning to face him, Solas and Cassandra who joined him unwaveringly. Their weapons were drawn for her, their smiles true and reassuring. She could have laughed a sad laugh of relief and thanks to simply see them there, still beside her.

 “How did I guess you’d want in on this story?”

 “Elsa, my girl,” he laughed, shaking his head somewhat pitifully, masking the nerves, “You need us for this shit and, quite frankly, we wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading you adorable snowflake you! "Their Wonderful Abnormality" was first published on Wattpad under the same name (Their Wonderful Abnormality - By Selkki) If you'd prefer to read it on there!
> 
> Also, my tumblr is Inquisitor Yaku (... original/imaginative, I know) and is a mainly Dragon Age blog where (Hopefully) I'll be uploading my writings. 
> 
> This series has been a real labour of love... but one I have very much enjoyed and learnt from thanks to the glorious people who supported me! 
> 
> Love you all a little bit!


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